Welcome to the Battleground...
Current Waffle House count: 6
Number of people suggesting I accept Jesus as my Lord and Savior: 1
You�ll have to excuse the sloppiness of this entry�it�s the top of the 13th inning, David Ortiz just safely stole a base but was called out, Gary Sheffield reached first on a strikeout, and I�m typing while banging my head against the wall.
It would probably be better for me to change the names of the people and places I�m visiting, but what the hell. Most of it�s true anyway, and nothing is libelous.
A couple of general points�they sure do like George W. Bush here in north Florida. There are signs and bumpers stickers for him everywhere, but despite their loathsome political views the people couldn�t be nicer. It�s kind of the exact opposite of LA, where the people vote liberal but will leave a body in the street for other folks to steer around all night. Another thing: these political ads. I haven�t seen a single one because neither candidate will ever run one in the state of California. They won�t, either, unless they�re forced by some weird dead uncle to spend like a maniac to inherit an even LARGER fortune. That�s unlikely, though, I�ll admit. In any case, these ads are nasty. Mean. Dirty. The Democrat ads, though, have the virtue of being true. I can�t explain how any ad like the ones I�m seeing would convince anyone to vote Republican. Maybe from a �Clockwork Orange� system of repetition, submission, and acceptance. They�re batshit crazy.
We started today in Green Cove Springs, a town of about 7,000 people thirty miles south of Jacksonville. There was a block that would be perfect for the show, but it�s surrounded by a noisy, modern strip-mall breeding ground.
Green Cove Springs is built on the St. John�s River and is the site of four immense sulphur pools that were used at the turn of the century as a dubious cure-all. However, after all the tourism in Florida moved east with the railroad, the town built over the pools�including city hall, which has a distinct tilt, as half of it is sinking into a deep bog that reeks of rotting eggs. They were in the process of moving to a new city hall, a beautiful building that helps make the town totally unusable for the show. We spent some time with the extremely generous city manager, who told us in no uncertain terms that the people of his town do not like change and maybe we should try some of the other small towns nearby. It took an hour-long meeting in a building reeking of sulphur to tell us this. We left by 11:00am.
We moved on to Starke, a bigger city west of Green Cove Springs. It�s bigger in population by a couple thousand. Actually, that�s an unfair comparison, as Starke�s population number is boosted by the thousand-plus people who serve as guests in the maximum-security prison nearby. It has a death row, which people in Starke would rather not be known for. Sorry, guys. You�ve got an electric chair and a death chamber�might as well put it on the posters.
The head of the Chamber of Commerce met with us and introduced us to�well, everybody. We went up and down their main street and talked to every merchant. Their comments all had a Stepford-like consistency�Starke is a great town, there�s not enough for kids to do, but we should definitely make a TV show there. The highlights included the owner of the local lunch counter, who showed us her 3,000 teddy bears (no kidding), the florist who insisted we turn off the camera to tell us about a couple of male business partners who are �very, very close, need I say more�, and the barber who refused to speak to the camera and scared the hell out of me by not speaking more than one word per sentence.
Despite the fact that Starke is over 30% African-American, none of them seemed to live or work downtown. We eventually found a small salon off the highway run by an amazing young woman, a single mother and small business owner who goes to school for nursing and, with a friend, runs a self-funded and self-made mentoring program for girls in the area. She�s a saint.
We went to the only bar in town to watch a couple innings (the 2nd and 3rd) of the Sox game, then decided to leave to go to Perry. Perry, we�ve been told in several cities now, has a checkered racial past. Checkered in the sense that someone last year was busted for refusing to desegregate his bar. Checkered in the sense that one hotel owner refused to let black people in his swimming pool. That kind of checkered.
Anyway, a lot more ahead. I�ll probably remember more about today after my brain heals. Later�
Number of people suggesting I accept Jesus as my Lord and Savior: 1
You�ll have to excuse the sloppiness of this entry�it�s the top of the 13th inning, David Ortiz just safely stole a base but was called out, Gary Sheffield reached first on a strikeout, and I�m typing while banging my head against the wall.
It would probably be better for me to change the names of the people and places I�m visiting, but what the hell. Most of it�s true anyway, and nothing is libelous.
A couple of general points�they sure do like George W. Bush here in north Florida. There are signs and bumpers stickers for him everywhere, but despite their loathsome political views the people couldn�t be nicer. It�s kind of the exact opposite of LA, where the people vote liberal but will leave a body in the street for other folks to steer around all night. Another thing: these political ads. I haven�t seen a single one because neither candidate will ever run one in the state of California. They won�t, either, unless they�re forced by some weird dead uncle to spend like a maniac to inherit an even LARGER fortune. That�s unlikely, though, I�ll admit. In any case, these ads are nasty. Mean. Dirty. The Democrat ads, though, have the virtue of being true. I can�t explain how any ad like the ones I�m seeing would convince anyone to vote Republican. Maybe from a �Clockwork Orange� system of repetition, submission, and acceptance. They�re batshit crazy.
We started today in Green Cove Springs, a town of about 7,000 people thirty miles south of Jacksonville. There was a block that would be perfect for the show, but it�s surrounded by a noisy, modern strip-mall breeding ground.
Green Cove Springs is built on the St. John�s River and is the site of four immense sulphur pools that were used at the turn of the century as a dubious cure-all. However, after all the tourism in Florida moved east with the railroad, the town built over the pools�including city hall, which has a distinct tilt, as half of it is sinking into a deep bog that reeks of rotting eggs. They were in the process of moving to a new city hall, a beautiful building that helps make the town totally unusable for the show. We spent some time with the extremely generous city manager, who told us in no uncertain terms that the people of his town do not like change and maybe we should try some of the other small towns nearby. It took an hour-long meeting in a building reeking of sulphur to tell us this. We left by 11:00am.
We moved on to Starke, a bigger city west of Green Cove Springs. It�s bigger in population by a couple thousand. Actually, that�s an unfair comparison, as Starke�s population number is boosted by the thousand-plus people who serve as guests in the maximum-security prison nearby. It has a death row, which people in Starke would rather not be known for. Sorry, guys. You�ve got an electric chair and a death chamber�might as well put it on the posters.
The head of the Chamber of Commerce met with us and introduced us to�well, everybody. We went up and down their main street and talked to every merchant. Their comments all had a Stepford-like consistency�Starke is a great town, there�s not enough for kids to do, but we should definitely make a TV show there. The highlights included the owner of the local lunch counter, who showed us her 3,000 teddy bears (no kidding), the florist who insisted we turn off the camera to tell us about a couple of male business partners who are �very, very close, need I say more�, and the barber who refused to speak to the camera and scared the hell out of me by not speaking more than one word per sentence.
Despite the fact that Starke is over 30% African-American, none of them seemed to live or work downtown. We eventually found a small salon off the highway run by an amazing young woman, a single mother and small business owner who goes to school for nursing and, with a friend, runs a self-funded and self-made mentoring program for girls in the area. She�s a saint.
We went to the only bar in town to watch a couple innings (the 2nd and 3rd) of the Sox game, then decided to leave to go to Perry. Perry, we�ve been told in several cities now, has a checkered racial past. Checkered in the sense that someone last year was busted for refusing to desegregate his bar. Checkered in the sense that one hotel owner refused to let black people in his swimming pool. That kind of checkered.
Anyway, a lot more ahead. I�ll probably remember more about today after my brain heals. Later�
posted by Matthew at 4:11 PM
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